


Balcony Visits

by Tokiji



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Balcony Scene, Because TFOU lied and didn't give us an episode, F/M, So I'm making my own
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 11:45:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13053360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokiji/pseuds/Tokiji
Summary: When TFOU betrayed you so you gotta put your Chemistry book down and write your own Marichat balcony scene.





	Balcony Visits

**Author's Note:**

> I am so disappointed that we didn't get our episode yesterday. But hey, DID YOU KNOW THAT THERE IS MORE THAN ONE BALCONY SCENE?!

Marinette sighed into the cold night air as she opened the latch, her head peeking from the opening to see Chat Noir quietly sitting on her balcony. She should tell you that it was an unusual sight - it wasn't everyday someone got to see a superhero, face to face, in the dead of night - but she would be lying. His tense back facing her, tail swinging lazily, he perched on the railing, gaze glued to a certain star. It was starting to be a familiar sight for her, to be honest.

 

She climbed up the stairs and handed him a mug filled to the brim with hot chocolate. He took it without even flinching from her presence, no doubt from his heightened senses. Or perhaps even from memory. He took a sip, a soft hum of appreciation rumbling in his chest, and was about to speak until Marinette draped a thick blanket over his shoulders.

 

He looked at her then, a question hanging from his eyes.

 

“It’s freezing out here, silly cat,” Marinette huffed. “You’re going to get sick if you don't wear a coat.”

 

He smiled, half smirk and half genuine. “Are you worried about me?”

 

She elbowed him. He laughed.

 

“Well, thank you,” Chat Noir said. “A blessing as I am, I’m pretty sure it’s a bit of a hassle to welcome me all the time.”

 

“Hm, yeah.” Marinette giggled when his ears fell flat on his head. “But at least I have an excuse to drink chocolate before bed.”

 

He scoffed and took another sip from his mug. A short silence surrounded them. Chat Noir shivered and looked over to his friend. His good friend. She was looking down at the city, a soft smile gracing her lips, with her loose dark hair fluttering about. And her fingers were trembling.

 

He lifted his left arm, blanket firm in his hand to make it look like he was a large bird. Marinette made a face at him. He rolled his eyes, about to fire a remark, but the girl wasn't finished surprising him that night. With one fluent step, she was against him, her warmth spreading to his chest. Slowly, he lowered his arm and let it hang over her shoulder.

 

She laughed when she saw his eyes wandering anywhere but her direction. “Cat got your tongue?” She inquired cheekily.

 

It was his turn to make a face, a soft blush still feathering his cheeks, but his mask didn't let her know about that.

 

Tilting her head, she eyed him. “Chat?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Is something wrong?”

 

Chat circled a clawed finger around the rim of his mug. He chuckled. “Why would you say that? I don't  _ always _ bear bad news everytime I visit.”

 

She snorted. “Come on, kitty. I can tell that something's up.”

 

“Oh, can you?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “How so?”

 

“You haven't said a single pun.” She shook her head at his dumbfounded expression, smiling down at her own cup. “Tell me?”

 

He sighed. “Rough night at home, is all.”

 

Marinette frowned. Chat Noir has been no stranger to her balcony. He’s come and visited numerous times, with the first surprising her to the point she had whacked him with a broom because she had mistaken him for a robber. The second was confusing, because he had claimed to have no reason to come by other than wanting to see her. The days that followed were filled with jokes and sweets and awful puns. But on darker, quieter nights, he would have nothing to say. He would just sit there, shaking, and Marinette could do nothing but hear his sad purrs against her chest.

 

It had her wondering, more times than she liked, if he was okay underneath the bravado and leather. She didn't have a clue about his personal life - he never said anything. But sometimes he would show glimpses, just a tiny opening, of his days outside the suit. He was lonely, she guessed, and he was constantly busy. So busy that he often neglected his food, to which Marinette tried to fix by bringing him goods from the bakery.

 

Standing there now, with her shoulder against his torso, she couldn't ignore the fact that his bones were digging into her, an unpleasant indicator of how thin he really was.

 

Marinette nuzzled the top of her head to the underside of his chin. She felt him purr as he returned the gesture. “Are you alright?” She asked.

 

“I don't know.” He paused. “I just feel… cold. In my own room. My father-” he choked, perhaps fearing that he was giving too much information, but he pressed on, “he’s never home. Even though he promises that he  _ will _ be home.”

 

“Oh, Chat.” Marinette's heart aches for her partner. “I’m so sorry.”

 

He grips the mug tighter, the contents still half full. When he drank again, it seemed bitter compared to the first gulp. Strange.

 

“Your father…” Marinette ventured hesitantly. “Is he… abusive?”

 

“No.”

 

She tried to catch his eyes, but he just kept looking down. Reaching out a hand, she scratched the spot behind his ears which elicited a string of purrs and moans and a few taps of his right foot. They had accidentally found this switch the week before, and it had startled and delighted them. But the response was weaker than usual. As she pulled back her hand, still scratching, his head followed, and soon enough his nose was against her neck. Although he still lacked the normal enthusiasm, he began headbutting her gently.

 

“Chat,” she tried again. “I really am sorry about your situation.”

 

“There's nothing you can do about it,” he whispered. “I’m just happy that you care.”

 

“Of course I care, you dumb cat.” She kissed his temple. “I’ll always care.”

 

“I wish he did, too.”

 

She gulped, searching once again for the right words to say. “Is… your father a nice man?”

 

Silence.

 

A silence that she expected, which only added more to her worry. Murmuring his name, she pulled him closer and peppered little kisses on his face. He was shaking harder now. She tasted salt as she planted a final kiss on his cheek. His eyes were screwed shut, his lips trembled with silent sobs. The sight clutched at her heart and it made her angry. Angry at his family for making her selfless, kind partner like this. “I’m here, kitty.” Was all she could say. She repeated those words as she held him, as he wept.

 

“No,” she heard him whisper.

 

“What?”

 

“No,” he croaked again. “No, he isn't.”

 

The tears that came were natural and heavy, like the boiling of her blood at that moment. She combed back his long hair with her fingers, soothing him however she could, but his shaking didn't cease. “Chat, I’m sorry.” She hiccuped. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  
He said nothing more. He just let himself be cradled, let his sobs echo through the night, as Paris slept and ignored them.


End file.
